


A Thrill of Hope

by MistressOfMalplaquet



Series: Joy [2]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, FP Jones II's A+ Parenting, FP is a scary teddy bear, bughead - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-17 20:30:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13084779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressOfMalplaquet/pseuds/MistressOfMalplaquet
Summary: How Jellybean and FP saved Christmas: a continuation of The Sounding Joy, although you can read this story by itself.This is also part of 2017 Bughead Secret Santa and my gift for theonlyemmaleigh. Check her out out ontumblrand here onAO3- she's a wonderful writer!





	A Thrill of Hope

**Author's Note:**

  * For [miss_eee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_eee/gifts).



“Betty,” Bean announces. Her feet are propped up on the coffee table, and a book is open on one knee. Jughead nods and closes his laptop, obviously used to her odd ability to predict what happens next.

A second later Betty stumbles into the family room. “No Gizmo robot to be had anywhere,” she says. “Not in the mall, not in the stores, and the one I ordered is held up in Greendale.” She shoves her phone into Jughead’s face. “Look at this email! It should be delivered by now, but some fool of a clerk mislabeled it. Can you believe it? The _one_ thing the kids begged for.”

Bean cranes to see Betty's phone. The email is signed Lloyd Duckbill, a name that’s absurd enough to be unforgettable. In fact, Bean thinks she’s heard it before.

“Betts, we have two tons of presents under the tree.” Jughead picks up his computer and stows it in his old messenger bag. “You made ten different kinds of cookies, there’s a turkey marinating somewhere, and you’ve wrapped everything including stocking stuffers. In fact, I was a little relieved not to wake up this morning taped up in glittery paper and silver bows.”

“All of that means nothing if they don’t get the one gift – the one thing – they begged Santa for. How many letters did they write? How many cards to that stupid elf? How will I explain tomorrow that their Christmas wish didn’t come true?”

Bean glances at her brother. “Our parents once forgot about Christmas,” she tells Betty. “No gifts. No cookies. I don’t think we even had breakfast. Remember, Jug?”

Betty stops ranting and exclaims, “Was that the Christmas we all went sledding with Archie?”

“You gave me a stable made from a shoebox that day,” Bean says. “I kept it for years.”

Betty collapses on the sofa. “God, just when I think I’ve learned not to speak from a place of privilege… Thanks, JB. Forget I ever mentioned the Gizmo. First world problems, right? Besides, there’s nothing we can do about it now. Guess we better get to bed and hope for a few hours of sleep.”

“Good idea.” Jughead sidles behind her, puts his hand on her shoulders, and bends over to kiss the back of her neck. “Just take a look at what you’ve done here first, though.”

In silence, the three of them take in the tree, decorated with ornaments Betty found in garage sales. Under the wide bottom branches, presents are wrapped with mathematical precision, since Betty has firm ideas on the placement of bows and ribbon. They look like gifts from the wrapping department in a fancy store, the kind Bean used to look at and never imagine she’d unwrap herself.

The stockings, fat with loot, hang over the old fireplace. The kids have left out cookies and milk, which are now gone. Bean’s pretty sure she knows the name of the thief.

She remembers the dreadful disappointment of waking up as a kid, tiptoeing out of her room to look for presents, and finding a drunk on the sofa instead. Jughead read her stories that morning until she fell back to sleep. Later he found their forgotten gifts and wrapped them for her, leaving them out so she would have some Christmas magic.

Bean turned 15 before she finally figured out what her brother did.

#

Bean waits until everyone’s in bed and the house is silent. She pockets the keys to Betty’s truck and lets herself out a side door, fumbling for her phone as she starts the ignition. “Hey,” she says when her father picks up. “Want to go on an adventure with me?”

“Shit, Jelly-Bean.” FP yawns loudly and smacks his lips several times. “Do you know what time it is?”

“Dad, how many times has Jughead saved your ass?” Bean slings the truck around a corner and heads on the road to SunnySide. “Probably more times than he’s been there for me, and that’s a lot.”

“What’s your point, kid?” His exasperation is evident in the way the sheets rustle.

Bean turns into SunnySide and jolts down the gravel road to her dad’s trailer. “How about Betty? How many times has she saved us? You, me, and Jug?”

FP grates out an exaggerated groan, but Bean knows she’s got him. He has always had a soft spot for Betty. “What the hell do you need me to do?” he asks.

“You know a guy called Lloyd Duckbill?”

“Quackers? What’s that shithead done now?”

She grins. “Get dressed and meet me outside. We’re going to Greendale.”

#

Lloyd lives in a spinal column of row homes, dank boxes fronted with spongy faux stone and dented screens. Bean parks the truck, climbs out, and heads towards the residences before she realizes that FP has fallen asleep in the passenger seat. She raps on his window and waits for him to rub his eyes and follow her to Lloyd's house.

After the fifth doorbell-ring, FP grows impatient and shoulders Bean out of his way. He kicks the door and yells for Quackers to open up or FP is coming in after him and then he’ll be sorry. Instantly a few lights snap on around the scrubby neighborhood, and an irritated dog volleys a high-pitched series of complaints.

A rotund man with a bad comb-over sticks his head out of the door and shouts at Jelly Bean. “It’s Christmas Eve for fuck’s sake. Are you drunk? Get the hell out of here before I call the…”

“Cops?” FP wedges one booted foot in the door. “You gonna call the cops, Quackers? Because I’d bet they’d love to see the contents of your shed back there. Stealing mail is a federal crime, by the way, and cursing at my daughter is a personal one. You treat my kid with respect, asshole.”

Quackers leans weakly against the frame of his row home. “Your kid? I had no idea. Sorry, I guess. But why the hell is she here?”

“Because.” FP frowns and turns to Bean. “Why are we here again?”

She clears her throat. “Mr, uh, Duckbill. I believe you received a Gizmo robot at your place of business and neglected to send it on to my sister-in-law, so we’ve come to pick it up.”

Quackers eyes her with an up-down flick of his eyelids that leaves Bean feeling greasy. “Don’t know what you mean. You’ve cooked up some fairytale because your sister didn’t get her fancy toy? Well, life is tough all over.”

“Ain’t that the truth?” Casually, FP gathers Quackers’s pajama shirt in one fist. “And it’s about to get a lot tougher for some people.” He ignores the man’s protests and fixes him with his dark straight-pin glare. “Those are my grandkids you stole from this time, so you’re going to get the Gitmo…”

“Gizmo,” Bean murmurs.

“Yeah,” FP agrees. “That. And hand it over.”

Quackers seems to collapse. “Those toys are selling for 800 bucks on Ebay,” he protests.

“Is that so? I’ll keep that in mind when the kids open it. You can relax and enjoy the feeling that comes with making someone happy.” Sighing, FP releases Quackers and pretends to examine his nails. “And we don’t got all night. Move it - now!”

#

The sun is starting to rise when Bean shoves Gizmo behind the neat piles of gifts. Her eyelids are closing by themselves, and the room is starting to tilt.

She stands up, surveys the tree with satisfaction, and heads back to the little spare room. It’s across the hall from Betty and Jughead’s bedroom, and as she passes their door she hears them talking softly. “That new refrigerator we got in October,” Jughead says. “It’ll have to be your Christmas present this year, Betts, since my wallet is filled with moths …”

“Of course,” Betty interrupts. “That’s fine, Juggie. I just want to see the kids’ faces when they wake up this morning. Think they’ll make a huge mess of the house again?”

“Guaranteed. C'mere, babydoll.” Silence follows. They’re probably sucking face.

Bean walks into the spare room, closes the door, and peels off her clothes. If she’s lucky she’ll get an hour of sleep before the kids wake up and start yelling at the top of their lungs.

She brushes her teeth and falls into bed, snorting at what Jughead just said to Betty.  _Refrigerator! Yeah, right._ Bean knows he’s talked Veronica into lending him the Lodge family cabin. He’s going to surprise Betty with a weekend trip before New Year's for the two of them, a honeymoon they never got to take.

Bean’s lined up take care of the kids.

Exhaustion crashes over her like a dropped piano, but Bean struggles to stay awake for a few more seconds. It’s a shining moment, the time when everything beautiful is just about to happen.

Hugging anticipation and her pillow, Jellybean falls asleep.

 


End file.
